


Stone Age Love And Strange Sounds, Too (I'm Your Cherry Bomb)

by orphan_account



Series: The CBCU (Cherry Bomb Cinematic Universe) [2]
Category: Green Day
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Boys Kissing, First Dates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 14:22:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20259520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "We'll see about that," Mike mumbles, knowing Billie can hear him perfectly. "I'll bet that by the end of the night, you'll be in love with me."Billie all but gags. "In love?""In love. With me."or, mike does find the balls to ask billie out, and it doesn't go as bad as he expected.





	Stone Age Love And Strange Sounds, Too (I'm Your Cherry Bomb)

**Author's Note:**

> after popular demand (one comment and a few private messages) i decided to post a sequel to my second piece ever! how exciting, i know! i present to you the Cherry Bomb Cinematic Universe: this is Cherry Bomb Reloaded and i hope you enjoy, although it's objectively Not Good.
> 
> also, my laptop needs to be fixed so i'm posting this on mobile, and i can't tag properly, so i'll get on that as soon as i can.
> 
> i do not own green day nor am i claiming any of this happened.

If Mike is honest with himself, he hasn't been this nervous since his first and last basketball tournament - which was obligatory, mind you.

On said tournament, sure, he may have fallen on his ass multiple times, missed shots that absolutely no one could have missed even if they wanted to, absolutely demolished any trace of his dignity in front of most of the girls there - but still, it wasn't something that he cared about. He wasn't exactly passionate about it, per se, so it didn't really matter in the long run. 

Well, this isn't in any way related to basketball. He doesn't want to remind himself what it is related to, since it will most likely lead to another fit, but surely, Tré currently rubbing his mouth bloody with tissue paper is what will cause the aneurysm. 

"Shit, shit, shit," Tré keeps muttering, over and over, in a mantra. Mike's long given up, just allowing his mouth to be slowly rubbed right off his face. He might lash out soon, but he'll let Tré drown in his own guilt first. "Shit! Shit… _ Balls…"_

"It won't- _hey!" _Mike finally pushes his hand away, the black stained tissue paper crumbled tight in his grip. "Stop it already! It won't get off. I might as well call it off."

"No, no - no, you won't!" Tré's in distress. Good. "For fuck's sake… It's your fucking fault!"

_"My _fault?" his arm threatens to punch the side of Tré's face, on its own accord. "How exactly is your lack of boundaries my fault, huh? I didn't exactly have a fucking sign over my head that said to cover my mouth in black lipstick and glitter, did I?"

"You could have told me about the fuckin' date! Do you think I would've done that if I knew you were going out with Cherry Bomb?"

"His name's Billie," Mike sighs out, attempting to rub some of the glitter off with the back of his hand, one last time. Nothing comes off. "And, yes, I do! You're a fuckin'- Fucking _hell!"_

"Just calm down! It doesn't even look half bad," Tré says, discreetly blocking the nearby mirror. Mike doesn't bother to look at him. "Maybe he's into goths. Maybe he's into, um… Who else wears black lipstick?"

"I know who's about to get a black lipstick tube up his ass. That's all I know," Mike eyes the lipstick tube on the table, as if to prove a point. "Fucking hell, man."

"It's not the end of the fucking world," Tré says, even as he's almost pulling his hair right out of his scalp. "Go shower or something. Please. It'll make me feel better."

Mike shoots out of his seat. "I don't care how you feel, man! I'm the one looking like a goth fairy! What kind of prank even _is _that?"

"A funny one! And you'd think so, too, if you weren't so fucking secretive!"

"Since when am I secretive?"

"Since you hide dates from me! What's that all about?" Tré rips some more tissue out, runs it under the tap as he continues with his monologue. "What did you think, huh? That you'd jinx it? Is this a better way to fuck it up?"

"Stop acting like this is my fault! Give me that…" Mike grabs the wet tissue out of Tré's hand. "I just didn't want to… Well, yeah, jinx it. I don't know."

Some of it starts to dissolve into the tissue, at last. Mike can relax a bit again. 

"How did it come about anyway?" he's being shut up by Tré's hand and the tissue over his mouth once again. When he realises the stuff starts coming off, he all but collapses back into his seat. "Yes! Oh, thank _fuck!"_

"Gave me his number," it comes out all muffled against the tissue. "That night at Gilman."

"Mike… I didn't know you were that good of a kisser."

"Wanna have a go or something?" Mike jokes, but Tré's laying a bruising kiss on him before he has time to register it's happening. He cradles his jaw, "Ow, you fucking moron! You nearly broke my teeth!"

"It didn't thrill me, if you know what I mean. You're decent enough," he swipes at his mouth again, then throws the tissue into the bin. "I mean, if he gave _you _his number, I think he would have blown me right there. If it was me, that is."

"Hey, Don Juan," Mike snaps his fingers in front of his face, since Tré's eyes have gone foggy with the possibilities. "I'm the one going out with him, though, aren't I? And keep your voice down. Mum thinks we're going out together."

"Again with the secrets," Tré allows himself to be pulled out of the bathroom and into Mike's bedroom, where he immediately jumps onto the bed. "I get it with your mum, but why me, man? I'll never get over that."

"You better do it quick, 'cause we need to go," Mike checks his reflection on his window quickly for any trace of black lipstick. Spotting none, he starts to pull on his shoes hastily. "I might be a bit late."

"Fashionably late."

"And it's your fucking fault, but let's not get into that," he huffs as his feet are finally stuffed into his shoes, and stands up as straight as he can. "How do I look?"

Tré whistles, "Like a million dollar hunk, baby!"

Instead of responding, Mike focuses on tying his shoelaces, all the while Tré paces the room in an attempt to pass the time. He eventually sits up straight again, but when he tries to make it out the door, his feet appear to be cemented onto the floor.

"Shit," Mike breathes, backs up into the nearest wall, throws his head back in defeat. "Shit. Where do I think I'm going? I'm going to make an ass out of myself. I'm going to- I can't. I can't."

_"What?" _Tré all but shouts, shushing himself at the recollection of Mike's mum lounging in the living room. "Where the fuck is _this_coming from? You've had a whole week to sabotage yourself, you ungrateful dickhead! You're not gonna make a fuckin' ass out of yourself. You're only gonna _get _some ass. Fucking hell, Mike!"

"No, I _can't," _he babbles on, and Tré all but curls into a ball of self-pity and comfort on the ground. "You don't get it. What if he was- He was fuckin' pissed that night. What if he just did it for the hell of it? What if he doesn't show up?"

"Then why would he make the date in the first place!" Tré's going a bit crazy. Good. "Stop being an asshole and let's go. You'll feel better once we're there."

"Hold on, _we? _Tré, you're not crashing my date."

"I just wanna see him again," he replies, though he's distracted browsing Mike's closet, for whatever reason. "Where are you going anyway? I could use a beer."

"Meeting at the park and then we'll see where it goes. If I ever get out of here."

"Then fuckin' come on! Jesus, I thought you said you was late."

"Well, not _terribly _late…" Mike says, but he barely has time to finish before Tré's pulling him by the arm. He's being trudged down the stairs, and his steps are so heavy that they catch the attention of his mother even before they're on her sight. She smiles, forcibly so.

"Have fun, boys."

"We will. We'll have oodles and _oodles _of fun," Tré replies, but he pulls Mike out the door before she has time to question it. He speaks again as they're walking down the street. "See? Even your mum thinks you should relax. In a way."

"Let's just shut up about it until we get there, alright? How about it?" Mike feels like if he could bounce his leg while walking, he would definitely be doing it right now. Tré obeys for his sake and doesn't say anything, but Mike himself doesn't last long enough. "Do you think _he's _nervous? _I _shouldn't even be nervous. It's just a guy. And he wasn't, like,_that _pretty. And I did all the work kissing while he just _sat _there. You know? Maybe this was a bad idea."

"And blue hair's not even in right now."

"Yeah, blue h-" Mike pauses, because Tré looks somewhat incredulous. "What do you mean blue hair's not even in?"

"I mean that you're pulling reasons not to go out of your ass and it's sort of driving me crazy," he rubs at one eye. "Look, if he's so terrible, and you really want to blow the whole thing off, fine. I could go and tell him that Mike wasn't feeling very well but he sent me, his compassionate and hung like a horse friend, to compensate for the lack of company. And who knows?"

"Never in a million years would I send _you _out of all people. Hung like a fucking _horse- _Who do you think you are?"

"Someone with a lot more balls than you, apparently," Tré can see the entrance of the park now in the distance. "Grow a pair and tell me. Is he waiting for you at the entrance or inside?"

"Well, he said meet at the park… Said I'd be able to see him," he smiles as he recalls. "With, you know, the blue hair and everything."

"I figured," Tré murmurs, pausing before they cross the street. "One more thing before we're within earshot. Just make sure to mention that you have, like, a _massive _dick, yeah? Just a _monster _cock, alright? Slip it in somewhere during conversation."

Mike stares. The air rustles and birds are chirping, and Mike feels his brain melt and trickle out of his ears. "What on fucking _earth_could we be talking about… that would allow me to mention I have a _monster cock?"_

"Anything. It's always a pleasant thing to hear."

Instead of replying, Mike crosses the street on his own, not bothering to check for cars before. Maybe someone will spare him and run him over. Tré's steps are rushed behind him.

"Can you not talk until I find him?" he says, before Tré can open his mouth. "Please. I beg of you."

"I know you're only joking, but now's not the time for jokes," Tré pulls him further into the park as he speaks, against Mike's wishes. "I don't see him anywhere. Sounds like you to fuck it up and get the wrong location."

"I did _not _get the wrong location. He said the park. There's no other park around here," Mike checks his watch. "It's a quarter past. Why isn't he here? I should go."

"Man, shut up. Sit down there," Tré pushes him down onto the nearest bench, massaging one of his shoulders. Well, not massaging so much as dislocating. "Okay, I'm gonna go, 'cause if he does come and he sees me that's going to be weird to explain. And if he doesn't come, well, there are always those hotlines they drop flyers for."

"Tré…"

"Just relax, will you? I'm only fuckin' kidding - you haven't even gone around the whole park yet. He's here _somewhere. _I'm going," he pats the top of Mike's head a few times before he makes it to the entrance again, but he pauses for a brief second. "Get off your fuckin' _ass!"_

Mike shushes him hastily, overtly aware of the kids playing about in the mud a few meters away. Tré's gone, and Mike indeed does get off his ass, starting to walk around aimlessly. If the guy is here (doubtful), then he can wait a few more seconds until Mike sets his shit together.

He tries to imagine how tonight will flow. If Mike can manage not to embarrass himself in front of Cherry Bomb too many times, he'll be a happy man. He wipes his sweaty palms on the back of his thighs, just in case Billie's as affectionate sober as he is drunk out of his mind, and focuses on spotting an electric shock of blue for the meantime. 

Well, something else seems to catch his eye. He gets a bad case of déjà-vu, looking at the back of a very much not blue head, bobbing up and down on its own accord. He almost doesn't stop, but then the wind blows a little dreadlock out of the mop of hair, and Mike stares.

Okay, he's not _utterly _disappointed. This may be even better, and he would know for sure if he had the balls to tap this guy on the shoulder. He doesn't have time to ponder whether Tré was right about him growing a pair, because out of some sick joke God is playing on him, Cherry Bomb twists his head around to identify a screaming baby in the distance. Mike's there, of course, staring at him like a complete and utter moron, and Billie spots him. Rotten fucking screaming kid.

He doesn't say anything, just keeps nodding his head to the music playing through his earbuds, though absentmindedly. Billie's smiling at him, in invitation, like he knows Mike is two seconds away from shitting his pants. In a trance, Mike decides to approach him. 

"What's the matter?" Billie takes one earbud out, and what Mike gets from it is that he only deserves half of his attention - like he's not worthy just yet. "Didn't recognise me?"

"Well, I mean," Mike contemplates sitting down next to him on the bench, but opts for placing his hands on the back of it. "It's, um… I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

"Don't like it, then?"

Well, that was the complete opposite of how Mike would put it. To put things into perspective: Billie's head is pink. As in, not just his hair - dyed a vibrant, hot fuschia that kinda made your eyes sore if you looked at it too long - but his cheeks were also a pretty shade of cotton pink, from sheer excitement Mike would guess.

He laughs, sort of. "Yeah, that's it. It looks horrible. You look like the cheaper version of Gwen Stefani."

"I could tell you hated it by your pocket rocket," Billie says, and Mike doesn't know what the hell that means, but the way Billie smiles at him tells him it can't be good. Mike must look absolutely lost, because Billie elaborates. "Your one-eyed trouser snake. Your full salute? Your _stiffy."_

Before Mike can choke on his own spit, he checks his pants, just in case. It only sends Billie into hysterics.

"But, really," Mike starts over, finally sitting down next to him. The other earbud comes off at once - a reason to celebrate. "It looks hot. I'm just a bit worried about the chemicals and… your brains."

"Huh? Nah, I've bleached it so much I'm surprised I even have any left," Billie jokes, pulling on a handful of greasy, pretty curls to prove his point. "I don't think I'm going bald any time soon."

"Thank God. If you went bald, I don't think we could go out anymore."

"Who said we're going out?"

"Your phone number on my arm."

Billie must not know what to answer, or he's just too preoccupied giggling to himself. His eyes skit over to where his number was once scrawled, long gone.

"It's not there anymore," Billie shrugs, like he's sad to report it. "I'm glad to know that you shower."

"Yeah, I love to shower. Not many people seem to think the same."

"That's funny," Billie says, but it's clear he meant something else. Mike doesn't know what, but a strand of hair from the back of his head is suddenly being twirled around one of Billie's fingers. "Do you like to shower with company? Or do you prefer to be alone?"

He contemplates not replying for a while, but nothing would be worse than that. Absolutely nothing. Anything he said would be better than not saying anything, at that.

"If the company's good."

It must have been the right thing to say. The tip of Billie's nose is a happy shade of rose pink, and he's still swirling that damned strand of hair in between his fingers. "I'm only jokin'," he says, even if he's clearly not.

Mike's leg has finally found the chance to start bouncing, as it seems. Billie takes notice, and nudges it with his own leg.

"You nervous?"

It's too awkward of an admission for his liking. Mike forces a little giggle, anyway, covering half of his face with a newly sweaty palm. "I mean… _kinda. _Sorry, is it that obvious?"

"No, no. Well," he jokingly plants a firm hand on top of Mike's jiggly knee, laughing as it halts. "Don't worry about it. If it makes you feel any better… I was a bit nervous. A _little_bit."

"Were you, now?"

Billie nods. "Well, not so much for today. I couldn't remember if I embarrassed myself to the point of no return last time at Gilman… Or if I said anything that… you know," he bites on the nail of his index finger, sheepishly. "Did I?"

Mike tries to remember, though he doesn't need to. Without sounding too melodramatic (and horny), he's pretty sure he's dreamed the events of that night for the better part of the week. He doesn't say that, of course.

"I mean, to be honest, we didn't really _talk. _So I would guess you're fine," he says. A flash of recollection passes Billie's eyes, and he laughs to himself, finally letting go of Mike's hair.

"Forgot about that," he replies, but backtracks almost immediately. "No, I didn't. I've kinda been thinking about it, to be honest. Well, that's why we're here now, I guess."

"So, we're only here because I'm an amazing kisser? Gee, thanks," Mike scoots a bit closer, and Billie fiddles with his earbuds. "That kinda puts a lot of pressure on me, though."

There's still a faint hint of music playing through the bundle in his fist. "How come?" he smiles sweetly.

"I can't let you down."

"From what I remember, you were decent enough."

"Oh, I see," Mike clears his throat, for lack of anything better to do, and motions to Billie's earbuds. "What are you listening to?"

Billie looks down at them, fiddles some more with the cord. "You'll laugh at me if I tell you," he says, even as he's laughing himself. He doesn't wait for Mike's reply. "It's The Runaways."

"Oh, _no," _he does laugh, but Billie doesn't seem to mind. "It's not Cherry Bomb, is it?"

"Nah, it's Blackmail… But I've got Cherry Bomb if you wanna, you know… reminisce a little bit."

Mike decides to be bold for once in his life and gently pulls one earbud out of Billie's grip, putting it in with a suggestive smile on his lips. And if that wasn't clear enough: "Go ahead, then."

After the tiniest pause, Billie nods and sifts through his playlist - all smiley, Mike notes - and soon enough Mike hears Joan Jett's rhythm guitar, right in his eardrum. Billie's a bit busy wringing his hands together, as it seems, so Mike nudges them both, causing him to huff out a few giggles.

"You're a pretty big Runaways fan… From what I've gathered," Mike says, not feeling bad at all that he distracts from the song. Mostly because Billie doesn't seem to mind one bit.

"No shit," he says. "But yeah, you know… Joan Jett in red spandex… I'm a huge fan, yeah."

"I'm more of a Cherie Currie guy."

Billie sort of stares. "I was kidding. I only got into them for the music. I'm not a pervert."

Mike doesn't reply for a while. But then, during the guitar solo, he decides to spoil it and speak up: "I'm not a pervert for admiring hot girls. Maybe I wasn't even talking about her looks. Maybe I meant her stage presence."

"You spoiled the best fucking part," is all that Billie says, but his smile shows he doesn't really mean it. "And I was _kidding. _About kidding. Also, _Cherie Currie? _Not that good of a choice."

"I meant _young _Cherie Currie. Before all the Trump supporting started."

"We can either sit here and talk about Cherie Currie being a bigot or get the fuck out of this place before all the screaming babies pierce my eardrums. Last option involves buying you a beer. Your choice."

Mike smiles, nods in defeat, and lets himself be led toward the exit by impatient, veiny hands. The little dreadlock moves accordingly to Billie's head as he almost skips along the street, up and down - in a moment of endearment, Mike tries to properly hold his hand, entwined fingers and all.

Billie's hand goes easy, but it doesn't go without a comment. "I'm not gonna lie… this is kind of weird," he says, and he sounds a lot more sincere than Mike would have expected. "And your hand's sweaty."

"Alright, sorry," he says, but as he tries to withhold it, he finds a lot of resistance from Billie's own hand, now going white around his. He laughs to himself, "Let go of it, then."

"What? I am," Billie tuts, even when he clearly is not. He tries to seem all nonchalant about it, too, walking a couple steps ahead of Mike, drawing the attention of quite a few elderly people that have gone out on their porches for a cup of coffee. Maybe it's the puffed-out chest, or the hand-holding - or, well, the neon pink hair. He shakes their entwined hands mockingly, "Go ahead. Let go of me."

Mike tries once, twice, and as he decides that it would be a lot less painful and a lot less time-consuming to just keep holding Billie's grabby damn hand, Billie starts giggling to himself. Mike sighs, at last, audibly, "I don't want to, I guess."

"I figured," says Billie, and pities Mike enough so as to slow down and allow him to walk by his side. "All jokes aside, your hand is seriously sweaty. Do I _still _make you nervous?"

Mike huffs. Truth be told, he isn't all that nervous anymore, since Billie isn't really that intimidating sober - and when he's not screaming that he's a wild girl on top of a stage and in front of a sea of people. Billie won't be very interested in that kind of answer, though, so Mike just keeps it to himself.

"It's okay," Billie continues, totally unprovoked. "I make a lot of people nervous, apparently."

"It's 'cause you're pretty," Mike says, returning the stare Billie sends his way without any problem. "You're, like… I don't know. I've been trying to get it right this past week…"

"I should be flattered, probably," he replies, tapping onto Mike's knuckles nervously. "I don't know, I think it's just the attitude that makes you think that. I'm a pretty ugly guy, I think. It's all attitude."

Mike pauses. "I guess… I mean, I don't know. I thought you were pretty cute - in, like, a goblin way."

"That's what I'm _sayin'!" _Billie bumps their hands against his thigh, in an attempt to hurt Mike, playfully. He sort of looks at him over his shoulder, "You thought I was cute, you said? That's a first…"

"Not _cute. _No, not cute, I take that back. You're obnoxious - and pretty."

"Nah, you loved me," Billie lets go of his hand then, only to wrap an arm around Mike's neck. "It was love at first sight. Unrequited, too."

"We'll see about that," Mike mumbles, knowing Billie can hear him perfectly. "I'll bet that by the end of the night, you'll be in love with me."

Billie all but gags. "In _love?"_

"In _love. _With _me."_

He unwraps the arm from around Mike's shoulders and takes a few steps ahead of him once again, taking a turn before Mike can add anything else. Huffing to himself, Mike runs behind him, grabbing him by the back of his shirt. Billie slows down.

"I'll bet you on that," he says, like he had been thinking about his answer. "No problem. If I wanna see you again after tonight, I owe you twenty bucks. If I don't, you owe me fifty bucks. Which I hope you have with you, by the way."

_"Fifty? _How come you'll give me twenty and I have to give _fifty?"_

"Because if I lose, you'll also see me again. Which is _well _over fifty bucks. Do you have fifty bucks on you, hotshot?"

Mike pats his pockets down, though he already knows the answer. "I have, like, fifteen bucks."

"Alright, fifteen. Deal?"

Mike eyes Billie's extended hand, feeling wary all of a sudden, but ends up begrudgingly shaking it anyway. Billie's pleased about it, as he is.

"I might as well buy you that beer now," he says, patting Mike on the back with faux sympathy. "It's the least I can do. Since you're gonna lose fifteen bucks tonight."

"We'll see about that," Mike says, and as if to prove a point, flashes his most charming smile when Billie looks his way. It doesn't seem to have the desired effect.

"Don't do that when we walk in," Billie mumbles, and Mike just now notices they're a few meters away from a pub's entrance. "Because someone's gonna beat you up and I'm not gonna help you."

The words Royal Oak flash red and bright above their heads, remarkably similar to Billie's head. Mike almost mentions it, but then he looks inside the joint and just about groans out loud.

"You know what?" he says, just before Billie can walk in. "I don't wanna go in there. Hey," he grabs Billie's arm when he threatens to go in anyway. "Please? No kidding. Let's go get a beer from the convenience store or something. C'mon."

He's awfully aware of Tré staring at him through the place's filthy windows. God knows why he's even here, if not to ruin Mike's night, but what he does know is that there's _no _way he's spending his date in the same room with Tré, who will inevitably pretend to be a waiter or something akin to that and hit on Billie just to force Mike to make a scene. You know, just like in the movies. As Tré does.

"What are you _talking _about?" Billie says, awfully confused, though Mike's too busy telling Tré to shut up with his eyes, while Tré frantically motions to Billie's hair and imitates popping a stiffy. He looks at him, though, because he has to. "I wanna get a drink."

"And you'll _get _one!" Mike pulls at him again when Billie takes a step towards the entrance, and he can feel that he's five seconds away from getting punched in the face. Billie knows as much, too. "At the convenience store."

Billie stares at him. He looks between Mike and the inside of the joint multiple times, miraculously missing Tré making obscene hand motions, and tries to decide between ditching Mike or letting himself be dragged to a secondary location, and subsequently be fucking murdered. Mike is aware he sounds like a serial killer in terms of weirdness.

"You're so fucking _weird," _Billie says, indeed. "Why can't we just go in there? We're _right here."_

"Huh?" Mike stalls, and Billie still stares. "I don't know, man, I just don't like it. I don't wanna sit. I wanna walk around with you, you know?"

"No, I don't know, because that's the weirdest fucking thing ever," he says, like he's talking to a toddler. He laughs to himself, though, and looks down at Mike's hand still grasping at the fabric of his shirt. "Where the hell is this fucking convenience store anyway?"

"Literally right down the street," Mike promises, with the urgency of a man that has understood that Tré's threatening to come over there. He pulls on Billie's shirt again, "Come on. I'll- You _know _I won't leave you alone if you don't agree."

"I _know! _I know," Billie laughs incredulously, but lets himself be pulled away nonetheless. Mike sighs in relief and doesn't dare look back. "Hey. You're not gonna kill me, are you?"

Mike tries to unwind again, though Billie may or may not be actually tense. He stops pulling, as if that will help. "Kill you? With my charms, probably."

Billie looks like he thought about responding, but decided to push Mike away at the last second. Mike's lucky he doesn't stumble into the road and risk getting hit by a car, though he has a dawning suspicion that Billie wouldn't mind so much. He finds himself pausing when they reach the convenience store.

"I'm not paying, just so we're clear," Billie tosses as a passing thought. He goes straight to the refrigerator, gluing his face against the icy glass in a way that would irritate Mike - if only, you know, it had been anyone else. "You don't get to act like a moron and then get a free beer. That's not how it works."

"Aha," Mike sighs, already touching one of the crumpled five dollar bills in his pocket with the tips of his fingers. "And how _does _it work?"

"Well," Billie slides the door open and stretches his arm out to reach the bottles in the far back, "it's either you are smart as hell and you trick people into buying you beer. Which obviously doesn't fit my description."

He manages to grab a bottle with a little huff, then goes in for the other one. Mike laughs to himself, but only a little.

"The other option is to be pretty," he flashes a beaming smile up at Mike, full of self-awareness. "Or pretty _ugly, _but it's the same thing. People feel like the owe stuff to pretty boys and girls."

"Well, what if I _don't _find you pretty?"

Billie shrugs and stands up to his feet. "Doesn't matter," he clinks the two bottles together, moving past Mike to look at God knows what. "I'm still objectively pretty, whether you think so or not," he looks back at Mike, who's trying to make the tiniest hint of sense out of all the bullshit Billie's spewing. His eyebrows raise, "And you _do _find me pretty."

At least if it was a question, Mike would he somewhat able to deny it, even if it was just a joke. Since it's a statement, though, Mike can only stare with a dumb smile on his face - like a moron, or at least that's how Billie described him earlier - as he's being pulled up to the till by his bicep.

After he pays - which, of course he does, Mike can't imagine a scenario where he_wouldn't _pay - he realises that he just spent about five dollars out of the grand total of fifteen bucks he has with him. And that leads to another thought, which Billie seems blissfully oblivious to as he downs the beer and bumps his hip against Mike's, walking aimlessly.

It occurs to him that the - albeit useless - new goal of the night is to get Billie to fall head over heels in love with him. It was in the back of his mind ever since they brought it up, but he didn't really think about it too much - now that Billie's glancing at him from under wet eyelids, with a condescending smile trapped against the rim of a beer bottle, it almost feels like a challenge. Even if the bet - or Billie - doesn't pay up at the end, he'll be the winner anyway.

"You're standing, like, five feet away," Billie says then, as though he can hear the gears turning in Mike's head. With a quick glance to the left, Mike confirms that at least two more people could fit between them. Also, and most importantly, Billie doesn't like it. "I don't bite. At least in a way that's unpleasant."

Mike looks up at him at that, and Billie's eyes are shining with mirth, the one side of his mouth quirked up as if he's proud of himself, or awaiting a reaction. Promptly, he decides it's about time he did something bold, and as Billie's taking a sip out of his beer bottle, Mike's hand fits itself snuggly in his left back pocket, and pulls him a bit closer.

Billie chokes a little, which is the only unexpected outcome Mike gets out of it, but then everything starts to flow exactly as expected - Billie's head whips to look at him, and his mouth is ever so slightly open, the sides of it always quirked up, eyebrows climbing high upon his forehead. Mike forces himself to look forward with a cocky smile pressed against the rim of his own bottle before he starts counting the wrinkles under Billie's hairline.

"Oh, it's still there," Billie says. Mike concludes he must be referring to the hand on his ass. "I'm not dreaming, am I? You're really groping me, aren't you?"

"I'm not _groping _you," is all Mike can say, and smartly so. "You said you wanted proximity."

"I would never say such a big word. And I don't think the way to be closer is to put a hand on my ass."

"Look, do you want me t-"

"I didn't say _that," _Billie interrupts, all too eager for Mike not to burst into laughter. "Not that I would mind anyway, but, like… it's alright."

"That's such bullshit. _'Not that I would mind,'_my ass - why can't you just say what you really think for once? You won't be any less cool, I promise."

Billie's covering his face with his one free hand at this point. Mike doubts he's crying - so the soft shaking of his shoulders must be attributed to laughter. Overanalysing Billie's every movement, Mike almost misses that he says anything at all.

"What?" he says, because Billie's still covering his face, and anything he says would come out muffled. Something tells him it's not completely unintentional.

Again, intelligible mutters. Mike almost pinches the nearest part of Billie that's available - read: his ass - to get him to cooperate.

"I can't make out what you're fuckin' saying," he says again. Billie huffs from the gaps in between his fingers. "Go on, because my hand's getting sweaty and I might-"

"I said I think it's _hot, alright?" _Billie grits out, like someone's clawing the words out of his throat. With that to go by, Mike positively beams and buries his hand deeper in Billie's back pocket, taking a celebratory swig of beer. "Oh, don't let it get to your head. Shut up."

"I didn't say nothing," Mike says, pulling Billie by his pocket to get him to walk faster. It's not that they're in a hurry or anything, but Mike's spotted an isolated curb they could sit on a few meters away, and he's itching to get Billie and him to be somewhat alone for a little bit. It's not like there are that many people around anyway, but it's still sort of off-putting.

"You were about to. Where are you taking me?" Billie's being brought to a halt as he says it, and Mike's hand promptly slides out of his back pocket. "I was kinda joking about the whole murder thing."

"I thought you'd be into that," Mike jokes as he sits down, placing the beer bottle next to him. He pats the dirty curb next to him when Billie doesn't do the same.

"I don't wanna sit down," he explains, then leans against the brick wall of a thrift shop, one hand in his pocket, swigging down some of his beer. He eyes the thinning crowd in the short distance.

"Oh, yeah?" Mike prods, and he ends up standing up as well, naturally, beer abandoned. He follows Billie's eyes and observes the crowd himself, sagging his body on the wall next to Billie's. Eventually, his eyes shift back to his face, illuminated by a street lamp, "And what do you want to do, then?"

Billie buries his hand deeper in his pocket, stretching his neck upward, looking at the sky. The pale blue is slowly turning darker by the minute, bordering on purple, and it reflects off of his eyes like they're tiny mirrors made of emeralds. The reflections of Billie's eyes are responsible for the slowly forming stars on the horizon.

At last, nobody does anything for a while. In order to appreciate a moment, Mike supposes, you need to take the time to soak it up, maybe sit still and just bask in its silence. Billie's the first to ruin it.

"You wanna know what I wanna do?" he asks all of a sudden. Mike forgot he even asked that. He doesn't follow it up with anything, so Mike just nods reluctantly.

There's one last final pause - which the night seems to favour - as Billie glances back at the crowd one last time, but then he bends down to put the half-finished beer on the ground. Turning towards Mike, his hand is spread against the back of his neck as he pulls him into a kiss.

Mike would be lying if he said it was unexpected. In some bizarre way that he would deny to the ends of the Earth if Mike were to ask about it, Billie has been looking like he wants to kiss him for ages now. It doesn't taste like beer, and even if it does, Mike blocks it out - he only focuses on the gentle movement of Billie's mouth and the nails that leave behind little crescent moons on the nape of his neck.

This time, Billie kisses leisurely, like he's trying to savour it - as if he's missed it. In a way it feels like it's the very first time kissing him, when in reality it's far past that. That night at Gilman seems like a distant dream, and Billie's the made up guy that Mike came up with to get through dreamless nights, who has very simply come alive to meet him. 

And God knows Mike's missed holding Billie's waist in between his hands, his narrow hips deathly still this time around. He's not sure which way he likes it best. With Billie, he supposes, it needs to be repeated so many times that every single kiss' feel is memorised by heart, and only then can he make out his favourite way to kiss Billie, but he's sure he wouldn't have an answer then either.

After Billie thinks he's perfectly memorised the mold of Mike's mouth, he pulls away, settling back against the wall like nothing ever happened. Mike tries to do the same and slumps his body back against the wall, hands mimicking the hands Billie has back in his pockets.

"I like, um," Billie starts after a while, nodding in a way that communicates that says he thinks Mike understands from his smile, no words needed. Mike sort of does. "I like kissing you. I like kissing in general," he dismisses, still looking up at the darkening sky. "I like it more than hugging or cuddling, to make you understand. I think it's sweeter."

Mike nods, since it's the only thing his body allows him to do at that moment. He likes the sound of that - Billie likes to be kissed, and he likes kissing Billie. This could work. 

"You like all sorts of kisses?" he presses. Only then does Billie turn to look at him, a humorous expression covering his face. "Like, forehead kisses, nose kisses? Cheek kisses, the lot?"

"Oh, _nose _kisses…" Billie all but moans, the two of them bursting into laughter, and he only continues when they've both calmed down. "Nose kisses especially. They're on another level."

"You have a pretty nose," Mike says, as if it serves for some sort of excuse as he leans down and presses a little kisses on the bridge of it, and then right on the tip, lingering a bit longer. Billie's eyelids flutter shut both times, and his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks in a way that makes it impossible for Mike to slump back against the wall. He does, anyway, but after he lays a kiss on Billie's cheekbone, too. He raises his eyebrows, "How was that?"

"I can't even joke about it. That was sweet," Billie admits. He brushes his index finger against the tip of his nose, as if to pick up the kiss Mike left there. He then brushes it against the swell of his bottom lip. Mike stares, and Billie laughs the tension away. "As much as I like it here - and like getting kisses, first and foremost - I need to be home for dinner."

It takes a little bit for it to register. When it does, Mike widens his eyes comically, and Billie starts giggling to himself. "You need to_make it for dinner? _What are you, _twelve?"_

"I'm on thin ice, that's what I am," he huffs, the breath arriving warm and sweet on Mike's cheek. "Mum's boyfriend is staying over for, like, a week and she doesn't want us to make a bad impression by not coming to dinner or whatever - and I was late twice this week, so. I kinda don't want to be locked in my room all week."

"That's fair," Mike sighs, but they still don't budge. Mike puts a hand on the wall beside Billie's head, just rests it there. "Do you live far? Can I walk you home?"

"It's a few blocks away from Royal Oak. Or are you too scared to even pass by it, you fucking weirdo?" Billie says, pulling Mike by the arm, and so they start walking back, beers long forgotten behind. "I can go alone if you can't take it."

"You can't go alone because it's getting late and you're small and someone might rob you," Mike says, just as Billie's pulling at his arm to drape it over his own shoulders.

"You're such a funny guy, aren't you? Such a jokester. I'll have you know I've gotten into, like, millions of fights. And I can dropkick dudes like a champ."

"Yeah, whatever," Mike mutters, sliding his arm down to put his hand back into Billie's far back pocket. The moon's starting to make an appearance, and Billie just so happens to look at him at that moment, eyes narrowed. Perfect. "Have I told you you've got pretty eyes? I don't think I have."

"Maybe not you, but plenty of other people have," Billie prods, his serious facade breaking under the scrutiny of Mike's glare. He giggles, "Thanks. You might want to take that hand off my ass about now."

"Huh? What for?"

"'Cause there's a bunch of skinheads over there," he nods towards a group of guys with either buzzcuts or ridiculously long hair, all being loud and laughing in front of the Royal Oak, "and I don't feel like getting beaten up."

Mike observes the crowd for a bit, then promptly drops the hand to his side, not wanting to risk it. Billie lets out a breathy chuckle through his nose, eyes glued on the pavement as they walk past. As an apology, Billie keeps brushing their hands together, his wrist sending electric shocks against Mike's, fingers a second away from interlocking.

Nothing happens as they walk past. There are a couple of double takes as some people mistake them for holding hands, but nothing happens overall, and Billie finally laces their fingers together and pulls him around a corner.

"You know, anyone else would have been like: _ 'No, Bill, I'll protect you,' _or some shit. But don't worry about it," he says, because of course he does. Mike expects little comments like that at this point.

"Literally absolutely no one would ever say that."

"I hope now that you'll see where I live you don't make a habit out of visiting or anything," Billie drops. Mike laughs, hits Billie's thigh with both of their intertwined hands. "Like, don't come in the middle of the night someday and serenade me. _Please _don't do that," he pleads, but his raised eyebrows and humorous expression tell another story. "I'm absolutely _not _gonna show you the window to my room. Absolutely do _not _come play some obscure love song at ass o'clock."

"I'll keep in mind to absolutely _not _do that," Mike says, attempting to keep a straight face among all the laughter. "You can count on me _ not _to do that."

"Good," he says, and that seems to be the end of that conversation for a while. Billie swings their hands back and forth, as if he's challenging Mike to let go, but then he puts his other hand underneath Mike's elbow, tapping aimlessly on his skin. He starts to try and step on top of Mike's feet to make up for the affection.

As he walks, Mike remembers the goal of the night. Getting Billie to fall in love with him is still as important, but not so much as to prove something to Billie anymore - Mike wants Billie to think of him and smile in recollection, to be all blushy and giggly as he talks about him to other people, and still be as much of an asshole to him as he already is, but more to prove to his own self that he's not head over heels in love. Mike is projecting, that's exactly what he's doing, but he can't bring himself to care.

"Well," Billie breaks the silence, bringing them to a halt in front of a little two-story house with a chipped white door and blinds, "this is me."

Mike feels as if he has to let go of his hand, and so he does, putting both of his own in his pockets instead. He faintly wonders whether Billie helped plant the little flowers in the porch, or if he used to cycle around this neighbourhood when he was little. Whether or not he's snuck in people unbeknownst to his mother, or if he has any siblings he used to get into mud fights with. He wants to know everything.

"Are you not gonna ask if you can come in and meet my mother?" Billie asks, in a way that seems natural to him. "Go on, I'm late for dinner anyways. One more blow wouldn't hurt."

"I'll have you know your mother would love me."

"Doesn't matter how nice you are - which you_aren't," _he scratches his eyebrow, clears his throat. "Last time she caught me with a guy she just about threw him out the window. That one right there, see?" he says casually, pointing to a little window toward the right of the house, the blinds open and green curtains peeking through. "That's my room, for future reference."

"I don't think serenading you is such a hot idea after all," Mike jokes. Billie grabs his arm and pulls him towards him, a teasing smile complimenting his face.

"You little wuss," he says, just before he plants a kiss on Mike's mouth, on his tippy toes and all that. This would be the kiss they play at the end of the movie, Mike thinks, when the guy gets the girl and all is well. This is the same, with Mike's hands gripping Billie's hips and Billie scratching down Mike's back - only instead of a girl it's a pretty little brat with asshole tendencies and horrendous neon pink hair. Said brat pulls away, then, "But, yeah, I'd better go inside. Mum's fuming, probably."

"Has steam leaking out her ears and everything?"

"That's her favourite," Billie slides his hands up from Mike's back to the back of his neck, playing with a strand of hair. He lets go, takes a step towards the front porch, then abruptly stops and turns around. "Oh! I almost forgot! You owe me fifteen bucks."

Mike stares, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never does, and Billie's looking at him expectantly, occasionally glancing down at his pocket where said money lies.

"Are you serious?" he asks, because this could easily be another joke. He could easily be fucking with him again, but Mike can't laugh until Billie does. "You don't- I _lost?_You're _serious?"_

"Well… _yeah," _Billie looks confused, to say the least. His expression morphs to apologetic with a tint of humorous. "What? Changed your mind?"

"Huh? No," Mike is quick to respond. He's not making an ass out of himself today. Any other day, sure, he's prone to it, but today is going to end on a positive note from his part. "Let me…" he buries his hand deep in his pocket, stalling for all he's worth. "Just so we're clear; this isn't a joke."

"You think I'd joke about winning fifteen bucks?" Billie exclaims, face still so awfully serious. He holds Mike's gaze for a few seconds longer, until Mike determines he truly must be and averts his eyes, staring at his hand trying to pry the money out. "Go ahead, I'm in a hurry."

"Hold on…" Mike murmurs, pulling out two crumpled five dollar bills. "I only have ten… I paid for the beers, remember?"

"You're robbing me dry… Yeah, ten's fine," Billie takes it hurriedly, and Mike is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, like a total idiot. The reality of it is, he's just been robbed of ten bucks, been given one last apologetic kiss on the cheek, and Billie's making his way up the steps of his front porch.

Mike doesn't find it in himself to look until Billie's inside his home. Finding that he's embarrassed himself enough tonight, he turns his back towards the neighbourhood and makes for his own home, or maybe the Royal Oak, if Tré's still there. The last person he'd want to see after a date would be Tré, but that would be normally - not when he's just gotten his ass served on a silver platter. Mike wants to whine, and he wants to be laughed at, because then it will seem more real and he will be able to go from there. His pocket is empty when he puts his hand in, and that's the worst reminder of all.

It doesn't take long for that illusion to shatter.

Mike's being pulled back by the shoulder, almost trips as he halts by force, and then Billie's laying a kiss similar to that back on Gilman on him - more tongue than anything else, pulling him closer by the hair, scratching down the back of his neck. It doesn't taste like beer - it tastes like absolute infatuation and puppy love, and everything in between. Billie's hair curls around his fingers, forms rings around his knuckles, his waist feels small underneath his hand, and when he realises what's happening and he can finally react - oh, God. His body feels paralysed with want, and all the different interpretations of this kiss are saved for later, when he inevitably thinks about it for hours and hours before he falls asleep - right now he just savours it, and dreads the moment it ends.

"You fuckin' _moron," _Billie breathes as he pulls away, mouth practically still on top of Mike's. Mike can't control his breathing all of a sudden. "You're so _stupid. _You're a dumbass, aren't you?"

"Wh-" Mike's voice cracks, and Billie laughs against his cheek. "Why the sudden attack? What's going on?"

"After everything I've said and done tonight, did you really think I didn't want to see you again? You're _so-" _he laughs before he has the chance to finish, like this is the joke of the century. "Man… For Christ's sake…"

Before Mike has a chance to defend himself - not that he'd be able to, if he's being honest - Billie pushes the ten bucks against his chest, like he's humoured by even holding it. "Save it and buy me a burger or something next time. Something nice."

"Next time?" Mike exclaims. It's not so much Mike that says it as it is some unknown force that pushes it out of his throat, residing in his vocal cords unbeknownst to him, for the sole purpose of reacting to things Billie says. "Next time. You're _sure _this time."

"I _was _sure- You know _what, _you moron…" he grasps the sides of his face and plants another kiss on him, a lot more fleeting this time. Mike barely has time to catch the ten bucks before it gets blown away. "Just so we're clear, yeah? Don't ask me again."

Billie starts to take a few steps back, a suggestive smile still on his face. Mechanically, Mike takes a few steps forward, alerted, holding onto the money like an idiot. "Yeah, but next time- I mean-"

"You have my number. You know where I live, for fuck's sake- make a move, for once!" Billie exclaims, pausing his steps again. Mike is sure he must look like he wants to say a million things more.

"Wait, wait, wait… The deal was that if you fell _ in love _with me, I could keep the money… Is this your way of saying-"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Billie laughs, incredulously at that, and Mike can't help but do the same. "Buy me another beer first. Maybe a diamond ring. You could meet my mum. Go fishing with my brothers. Then we can talk about that."

"Promise?" Mike prods, and Billie can only nod, his lip caught between his teeth and stretched against a smile. 

Without saying a word more, Billie just blows him a kiss and turns around, runs back to his door, and only glances back at him as he's busy unlocking the door. Mike is still there when Billie closes the door behind him. 

Tré is, also, still at the Royal Oak. He's still as incredibly annoying as he was before Mike parted ways with him, but Mike sees him as an angel at this point. He sees everything as angelic. He's on cloud nine, and he refuses to buy Tré beer with the ten bucks he has left. He claims he's saving it for something special.

And as Tré pesters him about the details of the most magical night of his relatively short life, Mike rubs his mouth over and over, stealing Billie's kiss and touching it onto the tip of his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for checking this out!


End file.
